


the visitation of the ghost

by allthempickles



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Depression, Dissociation, Drug Use, Drug Withdrawal, Drugs, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, Loss, Sickfic, Trauma, Whump, Withdrawal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-05 20:43:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17926025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthempickles/pseuds/allthempickles
Summary: Klaus is going through withdrawal. The apocalypse (and Luther) aren't making it easy.





	the visitation of the ghost

**Author's Note:**

> no editing on this bitch, wohoo
> 
> lowkey a vent fic
> 
> i tried to represent his addiction as best i could, but don't have experience with it. if i made mistakes, please tell me. i'm mostly drawing on my experience with mental illness/other unhealthy habits.
> 
> if you are worried this may be triggering for you, please be cautious and feel free to ask me questions!

Klaus feels sick to his stomach; he’s hungover and coming down off whatever shit he took yesterday. He remembers what Diego said to him:

“My body is a temple.”

He had lifted up his sweater and slapped his hand against his stomach. Klaus giggles at the memory, slapping both of his hands mockingly against his stomach. Immediate regret. A wave of dizziness crackles through his brain and he doubles over again, resting his head on the rim of the toilet bowl. Ugh. That would be gross if he had the capacity to care right now.

At least he doesn’t think he was going to throw up again. He had woken up from a dream that he can no longer remember, covered in sweat, and run to the bathroom to barf his goddamn guts out. Yeah... at least he probably wasn’t going to throw up again.

So now here he is. There’s a packet of pills in his pocket; the last one. He dumped all of the rest out and they’re sitting in the toilet, colors leaking out. He tilts his head to peek at them again. Blue and white spots of color. After staying there for another moment, he reaches into his pocket to pull out the last baggie. At the same time, he pushes himself up again, fighting the dizziness. It feels like his brain is sloshing around in there.

When he gets the baggie out, he’s distracted with a ludicrous thought: where do these little baggies come from? Tiny little ziplocks. It seems like such inappropriate timing for such a thought. He laughs, and it sounds harsh and jagged. A little crazed. He knows how easily that laugh turns to tears. He’s glad he feels so spent right now. Too dried up for tears.

As he is opening the bag his hands shake. He tries to calm them, but his body doesn’t seem to want to stop. It takes a couple tries, and he’s half tempted to just throw it in bag and all; he gets it open.

He’s just dumped it when the knock comes. It sounds far away. No. It must be close by.

“Busy.” Go away.

He drops his head into his hands. God, he feels like crap. The door-knob rattles as it’s opened.

“Oh, good. You're up. We need to talk. You, me, and the others.”

Fucking. Busy. Who doesn’t know what ‘busy’ means. Klaus sighs.

“Like, now-ish?” Luther sounds annoyed.

Oh, very very cool. Because Klaus’s time is never as important as Luthers.

“Yeah, that sounds like a real rager, but my schedule's already chock-full.” His voice sounds strange to his own ears; it’s low and croaky.

“Yeah, no time for that. The world's ending in three days.”

God damn it.

\---

Allison hands him a cup of coffee and it’s all he can do not to kneel down and swear his allegiance to her. The coffee will only make him feel marginally better, but it gives him something to hold. Warm and solid in his hands. To take sips of and pretend he doesn’t feel like his skin is slowly peeling off.

“Three days?”

“That's what Five said.”

Klaus butts in.

“The old bastard did mention the apocalypse, come to think of it. He just left out the part about how soon.”

God he always needs to make show of things doesn’t he? Shut up, shut up. He’s always trying to catch their attention. What for?

“But can we trust him? I don't know if you've noticed, but Five's a little-” Allison circles her finger next to her head.

‘Brush your teeth and curl your hair’ Klaus’s brain sing-songs.

“Our little psycho.” He quips, smiling wryly. Shut up!

They keep talking. Klaus spaces out, watches Diego’s face move as he talks. It almost feels like his vision is zooming out slowly, doubling back in, zooming out.

He holds his cup tighter. When he pushes his palms as flat as tight as he can against the sides, it feels almost hot enough to burn. The texture of the coffee cup is rough, nearly too much on his sensitive skin. His palms feel dry, scratchy.

He, tunes back in while Luther’s talking.

“-all fought together against whoever was responsible.” Luther falls silent for a moment, and everyone watches him. Klaus watches him too.

“Okay. So here’s the plan.”

Woah, expertly dodged there, Luther. And by ‘expertly’ Klaus means ‘terribly’.  
“Wait a tick, wait a tick, wait a tick.” Klaus grinds out, joining the others in their protest. They’re missing vital information here. “What actually happened the first time around?”

“Yeah. What are you not tellin' us? Come on, big boy, spit it out.” Klaus only barely puts the meaning of the words together, but he knows Diego is agreeing with him.

Luther mutters something, then slurps his coffee loudly.

“What was that?” Allison asks. Klaus sees her lean closer, stares, eyes wide. Tracks the movement. He feels like he’s moving too. Woah. Woah. He squeezes the coffee cup again and plants his feet on the floor.

“I said, uh, we died.”

Huh. Klaus lifts his cup to take another sip of his coffee. Something explodes to his right and he yelps, jumping out of the way and nearly spilling his coffee in the process. He stills for a moment, reaches up and puts his hand against his chest. His heart is beating double time. Just an umbrella falling. Just an umbrella.

His body is letting out nervous little gasps without his permission. Calm down, calm down, calm down. He looks up, only to see Luther turning a glare on him.

“Do you never take anything seriously?”

What?

“Wha- wha- what? What are you talking about-” Klaus is stumbling over his words. What is Luther accusing him of?

“Laughing at a time like this?”

Laughing. Of fuckign course. Why does he bother? Why does he bother. Why does he bother why does he bother. Why does he bother, why does he bother.

            Why

                  does

        he

                    even

          fucking

    bother?

He misses the next bit after that. And the bit after that, and the bit after that. He knows that they quickly lose interest in him. All he can do is sit there and stare at the floor, or at his hands. They shake, fingers twitching on the sides of the coffee cup. He’s a mess. But he wants to get better. He wants to see Dave again. He wants it to stop. He wants… everything to be okay.

He laughs at that. It’s an accident, he just can’t imagine it every truly being okay. Dave is gone, he’s been on drugs for the better part of his lifetime. He sees ghosts. The apocalypse is coming. It’s an accident, but he lets out a quiet huff, and then Luther’s attention is on him.

He sighs, drops his head back onto the couch behind him.

“What the fuck is your problem?”

“I dunno, what the fuck is your problem?”

Suddenly Luther id right in front of him. Klaus wonders how he got there so fast. There are hands on his shoulders, and he’s being dragged up. Luther’s face is angry, lips curling. Is that a look of disgust? Yeah, well, Klaus feels pretty disgusting right now.

Now that he’s no longer tethered to the ground, he shakes like a leaf. Not out of fear. No, Luther isn’t scary. The most Luther can do is hurt him. But his body is freaking out, heart jumping and leaping, head spinning. He tries to wriggle away, but Luther is holding on tight. Klaus feels like a little kid being reprimanded. He hates it. Hates being grabbed at. He hates himself.

“Let go.”

“Tell me what your fucking problem is.”

“It’s nothing, it’s nothing. Nothing. Nothing.”

Luther drops him onto the couch next to Ben and spins around to the others. He turns towards Ben and shoots him a forlorn look. He intends it to be a joke, but he thinks maybe it comes out a little too genuine. Ben gives him a worried glance.

Now Luther and Diego are arguing. Fuck, what is with his brothers. It’s okay, because he’s not paying attention. He feels nauseous again, wants to double in on himself. FOld up like an accordian. Ha ha. He doesn’t laugh this time.

“You don't look so hot.”

Ben. Wonderful, wonderful Ben. Nosy as all heck Ben.

‘Mind your business,’ Klaus doesn’t say, because for all that it’s annoying, Klaus appreciates the way Ben cares.

“What makes you say that? I feel great.”

Ben clearly doesn’t believe him.

“You don't have to do this alone. I know how important this is to you.”

Klaus thinks about responding. Diego is leaving though, and Klaus takes that as his cue to escape as well, Ben trailing behind. They’ve got… things to do. Ghosts to see.

“Klaus? Klaus?” hmm... “Klaus!”

Jesus! Shit! Klaus turns around.

“Yeah! Sorry.” It comes out resigned. Of course Luther is angry at him. Oh, of course, what a fool I am, walking away from you. As if it’s by some mistake that I’m ignoring you.

“So, what? You're giving up on the world, too?”

“Yeah,” he pushes out, “pretty much. Yeah. Mhmm.”

He’s shaking, jumpy. It feels like his limbs are going to fly off, or all his molecules separate. Oh boy, he’s gotta get out of here fast.

“So that's it. You're cool with us all dying in three days?”

Cool with it? No. But it’s all he can do to stay in one piece right now. Klaus almost rises to the bait. He opens his mouth to speak, to protest, but thinks better of it. Instead he turns around, groaning, and shuffles out.

Ben is waiting in the foyer. He’s sitting on the second step of the big staircase. Klaus wanders over, then sinks to the floor in front of him. He lies down on the marble, and lets the cold seep into his skin. He’s sweating through his clothes, and it feels gross the way he sticks to the floor. But, like the coffee, it’s grounding. Maybe he’ll just stay here for a little while.


End file.
